


Genesis

by gemjam



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, M/M, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: On his return to Alexandria, Negan makes himself at home under Carl's skin.
Set between 7x04 and 7x05





	

He has no reason to believe he’ll keep to his word, he didn’t last time, but a week has gone by and if he does turn up, if they turn up, Carl wants to be right here. He won’t hide. He won’t sit back and let this happen. He’s going to watch, keep score, and eventually he’s going to hold them accountable.

He spends all morning within view of the gate and he tries to look busy but waiting always looks like waiting. He knows that Rick is watching him, that he wants to ask him to move, but he probably knows what the answer will be too. If Carl was feeling kind he’d say that Rick is picking his battles but Carl’s not sure he even knows what combat is anymore.

He turns away, starts walking back down the wall towards the gate.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

Carl turns to see Enid approaching across the grass. He frowns at her.

“The wrong way for what?”

“The best spot’s over there,” she says, nodding back towards Carl’s house. Carl still doesn’t get it. “You’ve been pacing up and down this wall all morning,” Enid says. “You want to be over there.”

He looks up at the wall towering over them, the sharp edge cutting into the sky, and it gives him some kind of reverse vertigo. He has no intention of going anywhere but if that’s what she’s doing he’s not sure he’d try and stop her right now. She’s probably safer out there than she is in here today.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he dismisses, continuing towards the gate.

“Then what are you doing?” Enid asks.

Carl looks away, staring down the road where he can’t see Rick anymore. He doesn’t know what to say to her, can’t explain his motivations because his vendetta suddenly feels so childish. His mind is on one thing and he’s not really proud of it.

“Did you hide your balloons?” he asks.

“I put them in a safe place,” she responds.

“Good,” he says, turning to face her again. “We might need them for the party we throw when we kill these bastards.”

Her face seems to do too many things at once, a smile and a frown and a plea all mixing helplessly together. Carl thought he could keep her safe once. Carl thought he was the best thing that ever happened to her. He doesn’t feel like such a blessing anymore.

The sound of engines outside the gate cuts through everything like a knife. Like a hatchet. Like a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

Carl’s eyes go to the screen with a laser focus, all his senses suddenly so sharp it hurts. Enid tenses beside him, puts a hand on his arm.

“Let’s go,” she says, a meek whisper, but Carl doesn’t move.

Rick is there again all of a sudden, striding towards the gate, knowing better than to keep Negan waiting. He slides the screen back and there he is, hip cocked like a loaded gun, Lucille perched on his shoulder. Carl thinks Enid whispers another plea, he can’t hear her as Rick unlatches the gate and slides it back. Her hand falls away from his arm and she’s not in his peripheral vision anymore.

“Now that is the kind of welcome I like, Rick,” Negan says grandly, swaggering over the threshold. “You are learning.”

He looks around, his men following after him, silent and obedient but, Carl bets, not many brains between them. He doesn’t respect these men, these followers. He looks at their impassive faces and wonders how easily each one of them folded. He wonders if Rick is the exception or the rule.

“You see this, boys,” Negan says, looking Rick up and down, Rick who doesn’t cower but doesn’t quite dare look him in the eye. “You see this eagerness. He’s got my cock in his mouth before I even have to tell him to open up. That is dedication to the cause. I like that.” He moves in closer to Rick, lowering his voice. “I like that a lot.”

His eyes flick away, spotting Carl by the fence, and he smirks. Carl stares back, refuses to shy away, even as he feels Negan’s intense scrutiny burrowing under his skin. Rick looks behind himself, following Negan’s gaze, and Carl can see him crumple, getting ready to beg. It makes Carl set his jaw even more determinately. Negan’s tongue flicks out over his lips before he finally turns his attention back to Rick.

“Let me tell you how it’s going to work today,” he says. “My men are going to go through the shit you’ve put aside for me. And then they’re going to go through all the rest of the shit you got in this place one more time, just to make sure you’re not withholding anything from me. But I know you wouldn’t do that. I know you wouldn’t be that fucking dumb as to upset Lucille. You know how she gets, Rick. She has a mighty temper.”

“It’s all there,” Rick assures him like a nervous schoolboy in front of the principal. “I made sure you got everything you were due last time. We have an understanding.”

“Yes we do,” Negan says joyously, a huge smile splitting his face open. “See that. Not so hard to just bend over and take it, is it? You might even start to enjoy it soon.”

Carl can see the set of Rick’s shoulders, the way he stares at the ground. It makes his hands curl into fists.

“Now, while my men are doing that,” Negan says, “I’m going to be keeping an eye on that little firecracker over there.”

He swings Lucille around and jabs her in Carl’s direction. Rick looks like he’s going to drop down to his knees, his eyebrows drawing together, his mouth turning down at the edges. It makes Carl feel sick.

“You don’t need to do that,” Rick insists. “I’ll watch him.”

“No,” Negan says definitively. “I trust you, Rick. You’re a kicked puppy who just can’t stop humping my leg. That one needs housebreaking. I’m not taking my eyes off him.”

“You can trust him,” Rick says desperately.

Negan walks towards Carl, eyes locked with him, Rick following by his side like he’s on a string, a leash.

“Can I trust you?” he asks Carl.

“No,” Carl responds.

Negan gives a low chuckle, looking impressed. Carl tries to fight the ember of pride that lights up inside him.

“Carl,” Rick says, pleading, and Carl can’t help but throw him a dirty sideways look.

“Let me make one thing very clear, Rick,” Negan says, turning his booming voice on him. “If the kid needs discipline I can take care of it myself. To be honest, I’m not sure you’ve been doing such a stellar job of it so far. He does not respect his elders. That is disappointing to me.” He turns to Carl, a sparkle in his eye. “I think someone needs to teach him some etiquette. Yes sir, no sir, please, thank you.” He leans in closer to Carl. “Can I have some more?” he says breathily.

“Please,” Rick implores.

Negan steps back, his hand tightening on Lucille. “If you say one more word I am going to need to think of more painful ways to shut you up, Rick.”

Rick closes his mouth, letting a shuddery breath out of his nose.

“That’s more like it,” Negan says, stepping back up to Carl and then looking past him. “This really doesn’t concern you, sweetheart,” he says to Enid who’s still hovering over Carl’s shoulder. “Why don’t you run along and let the men talk.”

Carl watches her leave feeling like he’s in the inner circle, like he’s earned his place at the table.

“Now,” Negan says definitively, turning his attention back to Carl. “There some nice spot around here we can go sit and take in this beautiful day, have ourselves a little chit chat.”

Carl jerks his head towards the lake, deliberately not looking at Rick as he turns and walks away.

“Hey, Simon,” Negan calls. “Make sure Rick here stays nice and busy. Keep him out of my way.”

Carl listens to Negan’s boots on the road behind him, every deliberate step, and he can practically hear the sway of his hips. As they approach the edge of the lake, the gazebo, Negan cuts in front of him, sitting down on the right hand side of the bench. Carl’s blindside. The satisfied look on his face tells Carl he did it on purpose.

Carl hesitates, looking out over the water, hating how small he can feel from such a tiny gesture.

“Sit down, kid,” Negan says easily.

Carl turns to glare at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Fine,” Negan says, swinging Lucille down to rest on the floor. “Sit your ass down, you little son of a bitch.”

Carl moves over, chewing on the inside of his lip. He’s forced to sit sideways on the seat, his whole body angled towards Negan, to be able to see him at all. He folds one leg under himself, leans an elbow on the backrest, and he looks so nonchalant he could almost believe it himself. Negan spreads his legs wider and gives a satisfied sigh.

“This place is peaceful as shit,” he says. “Sitting here, a person could almost forget about all that fucked up shit going on out there. High walls. Safe Zone. How often do you forget?”

Carl fixes him with a determined look. “I never forget.”

Negan’s lips curl up into a smile. “I bet you don’t.” He rocks Lucille back and forth against the deck, gazing out at the lake again. “But it’s nice here. Real nice. The suburbs of the apocalypse. I can see why Rick decided to settle here. It’s a good place to raise a family.” He looks at Carl. “You’ve got a sister, right? Little baby sister.”

Carl clenches his teeth together, his eyes going dark. His responsibility to Judith is the one thing he will never part with, no matter what.

“It’s funny though,” Negan continues. “I haven’t seen a Mrs. Rick wandering around these parts.”

Carl loses his bravado at that, can’t quite look Negan in the eye anymore. His gaze floats down to the floor, the worn wooden planks.

“Yeah,” Negan says, the word drawn out. “Died in childbirth is an epidemic we thought was over and done with.”

Negan can’t know, he can’t know any of this shit, it’s a lucky guess, but it hits too deep for Carl. He remembers being in that room, the alarm, the blood, the gunshot.

“Sad times,” Negan says, like he really believes it, but Carl doesn’t buy it for a second. “Still, life goes on. We all have to do our part. Make our sacrifices. I got my wives on the task, we’re working on a little repopulating. Gotta have an heir.”

_Wives._ Something about the word turns Carl’s stomach. He can imagine Negan, women lined up, or maybe knelt like they were on the cold dirt. _Eeny meeny miny moe._ A flash of a baseball bat; a flash of flesh against flesh. Bang, next, all night long.

“Your daddy, he doesn’t even know what he’s got with you,” Negan says, cutting through Carl’s thoughts. He takes a breath, tries to look like his mind’s not in the gutter. “A readymade little badass all raring to go,” Negan says, looking at Carl appreciatively. Carl tells himself he doesn’t feel proud.

“I see him keeping those reins on you,” Negan goes on, his voice more serious, like this is the part Carl is supposed to pay attention to. “Don’t let him make you scared. Don’t fall for it. If I had you…”

He trails off, his eyes sliding up and down Carl’s body. His tongue pokes out past his teeth and Carl has to repress a shudder, his body going hot. A grin comes over Negan’s face again, the one that Carl feels is hiding something.

“I think finishing that thought might be detrimental to my little operation here,” he says, swinging Lucille back up onto his shoulder. “Don’t want to be putting ideas in your head.”

He stands up, walks to the edge of the gazebo and rests Lucille against the railings before he leans against them, breathing in the air from the lake. Carl takes a moment while his back is turned to try and compose himself, taking a deep breath and forcing his body to sag as he lets it out, unable to bear the tension.

He watches Negan and then his eyes fix on Lucille. He could grab her. He could get to her before Negan saw him coming and swing her around, end all this. He could show everyone what a real fucking man looks like.

“Men like Rick, they see it all in black and white and they tell you how it is like there’s only one answer,” Negan says.

Carl looks at him, intrigued, his focus lost. Negan turns to face him, braced back against the railing, framed by Eden. Carl knows how that ended.

“But you and me, Carl, we know the truth,” Negan says. “You know I’m not the bad guy because you know there’s no such thing as a good guy. Not in this world.”

Carl tries to deny it, even to himself, but he knows what survival takes. He knows everything he’s ever done, every kill he’s made since Shane tallied away in his head. _How many walkers have you killed? How many people have you killed? Why?_ He’s not sure any of them would pass that test now.

“You know, you are not a very good conversationalist, Carl,” Negan states in that grand tone of voice that sets Carl’s teeth on edge. He picks up Lucille, swings her back onto his shoulder, and Carl didn’t notice until that moment that he was staring at her. It. “That’s disappointing,” Negan goes on. “I would love to get into that head of yours. Pick at those brains.”

He stalks towards Carl, stands over him, adjusting his hold on Lucille. He pulls her away from his shoulder, appraising her, and Carl’s not scared that he’s going to do it, open him up with one wild swing, but he feels a little thrill anyway. Negan looks back down at him, at the top of his head specifically.

“I bet it’s messy in there,” he says. He lowers Lucille down to the floor, leaning on her, crossing one leg behind the other. “Yeah, I’ll bet it’s real fucked up in there.” With one swift movement he hoists Lucille up and turns around, heading for the exit. “Let’s go see your house.”

“No,” Carl says instinctively. His mind goes to Judith taking her nap, all the possibilities. The one compromise he’s not willing to make.

Negan stops in his tracks, spinning around on him, and his eyes have that look that Carl knows better than to fuck with.

“Allow me to rephrase that,” Negan says. “You get that jailbait little ass off that bench and you show me your house. Now.”

Carl takes a breath and he knows he doesn’t have a choice but he runs every possibility through his head anyway. Negan isn’t going to kill him. Carl is certain he has a greater purpose in all this, even if he doesn’t understand it yet. But he could kill someone. He will. Over such a tiny moment of disobedience? Carl sighs, getting to his feet.

“That’s what I thought,” Negan says. “Good boy.”

Carl’s body goes hot again as he steps towards Negan, not daring to look him in the eye, feeling like Negan will work him out before he manages to work out himself.

“Just like your daddy,” Negan adds low in Carl’s ear.

Carl stops, the words like a rush of cold water. He hunches his shoulders upwards, lifting his head to glare at Negan, an emotion he doesn’t mind sharing. Negan grins at him, gesturing with Lucille.

“Lead the way.”

Carl resists the urge to shoulder barge Negan as he walks past him, and he doesn’t feel as confident this time with Negan’s footsteps falling behind him. His gait feels clumsy in comparison to those sure, steady footfalls and he feels too aware of his slim hips, of the inches he still has left to grow.

He glances down the street and sees Rick, loading a box onto one of Negan’s trucks. Carl wants to roll his eyes at the fact that Rick is doing grunt work when Negan clearly has enough lackeys of his own. Rick turns, locks eyes with him, and when Carl sees the very real fear and concern on his face he feels bad for being such a little shit. He’s just so sick of being told how to feel, how to react. It’s like Negan said, black and white. Carl’s pretty sure he’s nothing but a grey area.

He turns away, climbing the steps of the porch. He listens carefully as he opens the door but there’s not a sound. Negan gives a low whistle, pacing through the house. He inspects pictures on walls, knick-knacks on side tables, scrutinising them as though he’s working them out. Carl wants to laugh. This is basically a show home, a vision, someone else’s life. This doesn’t belong to them. Carl hasn’t believed for a second that it did.

“Boy, you guys really landed on your feet here,” Negan comments. “Look at all this shit. You got a real cushy number. I might be tempted to come have myself a little sleepover.”

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, gazing up, and Carl feels himself tense, taking half a step forward before he forces himself to stop. Negan looks at him.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

Carl says nothing, just stares at him.

“You really want me to go up there and start opening doors?” Negan asks. “Because Lucille loves making new friends.”

Carl relents but he doesn’t shy away, holding Negan’s gaze defiantly as he passes him to climb the stairs. As he crosses the landing he can’t help a glance at Judith’s closed door, even as he feels like he’s giving away every secret he has.

He throws his own door carelessly open, steps into the middle of the room and gives Negan a challenging look, crossing his arms over his chest. A small smile plays across Negan’s face before he rearranges it into an exaggerated expression of thoughtfulness.

“Where’s the good stuff?” he asks, looking around. “Jerking off material.”

Carl feels himself blush and he hates himself for it.

“I’d look under the bed but you don’t seem to have one,” Negan says, kicking at the edge of his blankets laid out on the floor.

He opens the drawer by the side of the bed and Carl does a mental catalogue of what’s in there. Not porn, he wishes, mostly things he’s thrown in and forgotten about. Negan gives a chuckle as he reaches in and Carl tenses.

“Comic books?” he asks, like it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever seen. “Are you serious?”

He thumbs through one disinterestedly and drops it back in the drawer, leaving it open as he traipses straight over Carl’s blankets to the other side, checking out a chest of drawers that contains a couple of changes of clothing and not much else. Carl peers into the drawer by the bed and then his eyes fall on the photo sitting atop the cabinet, the family portrait he risked his life to get.

He looks up at Negan, still rifling through his things, and tries to surreptitiously slide the photo out of sight. His hand catches on the lamp and the photograph tumbles down. Negan turns sharply, eying Carl, and he’s ready to beat the shit out of him, Carl can tell, but then he sees the photograph and he smiles to himself, moving over to pick it up.

“Holy shit,” he exclaims. “Is this you? Look at this happy little fucker with his birthday cake. That is sweet. That is so sweet I might want to put this on my wall.”

Carl clenches his teeth and he wants to snatch it back but he knows better than to try. He’s not going to beg for it. He won’t say please like Enid did. Maybe if he acts like he doesn’t care then Negan will get bored.

“And look at this clean cut, upstanding member of the community,” Negan goes on. “Rick does scrub up well.” His eyes slide over and he touches Lori with his thumb as he appraises her. “And this must be Mrs. Rick. It’s a shame she had to go out that way. What a waste. I think I could have had some fun with her.” He looks up at Carl, eyes shining with amusement. “What do you think?”

Carl feels himself burning with rage, his hands clenched into fists. He knows that he can’t react. If he bites, Negan wins. He stares at him as impassively as he can, the moment feeling like it’s stretching on forever before Negan tosses the photo carelessly aside. Carl listens as it clatters onto the nightstand but he resists the urge to look, to check if it’s broken. He can deal with that later.

“Don’t you just love a bit of suspense?” Negan says grandly.

Carl tenses, Negan’s unpredictable changes in mood making him feel off balance. If Negan would just be ruthless, or philosophical, or violent, or sexual, or over the top enthusiastic, Carl feels like he could counter him, but never knowing which angle he’s coming from next makes it impossible to work out what part of himself he needs to protect.

“You can relax, you know,” Negan tells him easily. “If I was going to kill you I’d do it down on that street where everyone can watch. You know how I love a spectacle.”

Carl knows that and it’s not even what he’s afraid of. He doesn’t think Negan’s going to hurt him, not physically. It’s the way he gets inside his mind, pulling at threads that might just unravel him. It feels dangerous just standing here, Negan’s eyes on him, but the threat, Carl knows, is down the line when Negan decides to use all the ammo he’s currently collecting against him.

“But if you were going to kill me,” Negan muses, “I’d say right now would be your best shot. This is your territory, your home, you have the lay of the land. Everything’s in your favour. This is you having the upper hand, right? This is the best shot you’re going to get for a long time.”

It's an empty taunt, a test, and they both know it. Negan doesn’t even need to have Lucille in his hands to be able to stop Carl in his tracks, but he wants to see his reaction, wants to know if he’s stupid enough to try.

Carl adjusts his stance, makes himself a little taller. “When I kill you, you won’t see it coming and you won’t stand a chance.”

Negan looks amused and, Carl thinks, impressed. “Is that right?” He moves in closer to Carl, close enough that Carl wants to take a step back but doesn’t. “And what angle do I have to stand at so you don’t see it coming? Where exactly does that blind spot start?”

He starts to move around to Carl’s right and Carl instinctively moves with him, keeping him in sight. Negan raises an eyebrow and moves around further, leading him in circles until Carl feels dizzy, his focus purely on Negan, everything else lost to motion blur.

“We dancing?” Negan teases, leaning in so close his breath falls against Carl’s face. Carl feels himself sway as Negan finally stops moving.

Negan shifts back and something changes about his stance, his expression one Carl hasn’t seen before. His gaze is unfocussed as he contemplates something and it looks so genuine that Carl instinctively tells himself not to trust it. He looks up at Carl, at the bandage over his eye, and Carl has to look away because he’s not going to let anyone feel sorry for him. He’s not going to be looked at like he’s weak or broken.

“You know, I get the feeling you would respect me a whole lot more if I’d made Rick go through with cutting off your arm,” Negan says thoughtfully. “I right about that?”

Carl doesn’t look at him, carries on staring dismissively at the wall, because it’s a question he hasn’t dared ask himself yet but something that’s lingered on the edge of his thoughts since that night. He’s not disappointed he got to keep his arm but how can you trust someone to keep their promises of protection when they back out so quickly on their own threats.

“We didn’t need to do that then,” Negan says, as though he can read Carl’s thoughts, as though he’s right there in his head, answering questions that aren’t even fully formed yet. “He got it. I just needed him to know what was at stake. That’s what he’s playing with when he fucks with me.”

Being reduced to a bargaining chip offends Carl, makes him feel less than. He knows that’s what this whole day’s about, he knows deep down that Negan has no interest in him outside of who he is. What he is. The heir. Still, Carl is a person, he’s flesh and blood and wants and needs and messy, conflicted thought processes that tangle until they threaten to choke him. We all want to believe that that means something.

“That wasn’t all about him though,” Negan dismisses. “Shit like that, it’s a test for everyone. It’s a test for you. You passed with flying colours, we didn’t need to take it any further than that. I mean, you really are not scared of shit. You were going to take it, dry eyes and gritted teeth. But I couldn’t do that to you. You already lost that eye, what use are you with a hand gone too.”

That finally gets Carl to look at him. “I don’t need your pity,” he snarls.

“Pity?” Negan asks with a bark of laughter. “If I had any pity, I wouldn’t be wasting it on you. You got your shit together. You know the score in this brave new world. The things you must have seen. I guess you’re lucky you only see half as much now. Maybe even less with this hair.”

He reaches across, tucks a strand behind Carl’s ear. Carl holds his breath, tries not to shiver, the sensation making every hair on his body stand on end.

“You don’t have scissors here?” Negan asks. “Or does Rick not let you play with sharp objects?”

Carl tilts his head, lets his hair fall back down, an act of defiance that makes him feel a little taller. Negan mirrors him, tilting his own head, and he looks like a curious dog. Carl waits, for him to say something, do something, maybe even tuck the strand back behind Carl’s ear, show him that he’s in charge. He looks down at Negan’s hand but it doesn’t move. He looks back up to see Negan still staring at him and it feels unnerving because he can’t read his expression, can’t tell what his motive is. He realises too late that his eyes must be imploring when he’s supposed to be dismissive.

“What are you thinking?” Negan asks.

Carl straightens himself up. Negan being interested in him makes Carl feel like the balance falls in his favour. “I think you talk too much.”

“Yeah?” Negan asks, that little smile threatening his lips again.

Carl looks pointedly at Lucille. “And I think you’re overcompensating.”

Negan’s face becomes suddenly animated at that. “Oh,” he says, a long drawn out sound. He looks down, craning his neck exaggeratedly as he stares at his own crotch. He looks back up at Carl again. “Do you want to check?” he offers.

Carl feels that heat, embarrassment and something else. His body freezes, trying desperately not to give anything away. He should have stayed silent. He shouldn’t have gotten cocky. He should have known that whatever came out of his mouth was going to be used against him. The one way he might have gotten under Negan’s skin would be to stay silent and give him nothing, but the temptation to get a jab in was too strong to resist.

“I asked you a question,” Negan prompts, his voice serious, bordering on threatening, but his eyes still sparkle so Carl is certain this is a game. Maybe it’s all a game though. Maybe beating people to death is fun.

Carl shakes with the effort to stay still, to give him nothing, but his eyes fall down, just for a second, that belt, the zipper. He looks away, turning his body.

“You’re blushing,” Negan says. He takes a step forward, closing the gap between them. “Those flushed cheeks, that pretty pretty hair, those lips.”

Carl feels himself falter. What about his lips? He wants to touch them, lick them, work it out. He imagines Negan’s hand instead of his own. He imagines… No.

“Don’t worry,” Negan says. “I haven’t forgotten about those giant balls. You got a bit of everything going on. I like that. I appreciate that.”

He’s leering now, right in Carl’s face, and Carl can feel himself burning scarlet, can feel his own shallow breaths shaking in his lungs.

Like a door slamming shut Negan moves away from him, seeming to take all the air in the room with him. He traipses over Carl’s bed, what should be a bed, moving to the other side of the room.

“I am getting too old for these pretty little things,” he says, the words muttered as though he’s talking to himself, but they must be directed at Carl, why else would he say them.

Carl tries to pull himself together as he watches Negan looking out of his window. He wants this to be over, wants to be able to fall down on his bed and… He can’t finish that thought, doesn’t know where it leads but he can’t face it right now. He feels weak with the effort to just hold himself together and it shouldn’t be this hard to have a conversation.

“That little girl you were with,” Negan says, his back still towards Carl, and Carl wonders if he can see Enid out of the window. “She your girlfriend?”

She’s not but for some reason it still gives Carl pause. He wanted her to be once. 

“You bring her up here for two or three minutes of desperate dry humping?” Negan asks, turning to look at him. “You put your dick in her?”

Carl can imagine it, he _has_ imagined it, but somehow it doesn’t feel like him. Teen romances are something other people get to indulge in. 

“Or are you too mature for pretty little things too?” Negan asks. He moves back across the room again, and Carl feels like if he drags those boots over his blankets one more time he’s going to snap. “I can see you craving something a little rougher than that,” Negan says. “Am I right?”

Something about that gets Carl attention. He doesn’t crave it, doesn’t seek out the darkness, it follows him around like a stray dog and Carl’s gotten so used to it being there that it feels like it belongs to him. It’s not a dog though, it’s a wolf, and Carl knows all too well that it can’t be tamed, that it could bite his hand off at any moment. Or tear out his eye.

“How old were you when all this shit went down?” Negan asks. He nods towards the nightstand. “Were you the kid in that photo when it happened? You’re sure as hell not that kid now. You know how important these years are? You’re settling into your personality, your frontal lobe’s not even done developing yet, you’re still becoming a person. It’s rough. It’s always rough. I can’t imagine what it does to a person when you go through that against a backdrop of hell on earth.”

Carl tries to let the words wash off him. He’s mature for his age. He’s hardened by everything he’s seen and done. He’s had to be. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s broken. It doesn’t mean there’s no coming back from this. He’s come back from so much already. He’s not over the brink yet. Not quite.

“How much innocence you still harbouring?” Negan asks. “Any?” He’s right there in Carl’s personal space again and Carl didn’t even realise when he got so close. It’s like he’s made himself at home there. He shakes his head at Carl. “Nothing but a burden. I can help you shed that if you’d like. Strip it all away.”

He grazes Lucille over Carl’s shoulder, gently, almost a caress, but the barbed wire still catches on Carl’s shirt. Mixed with Negan’s words it makes Carl feel so utterly exposed, makes him feel like he’s being undressed. He’s certain it’s supposed to. Negan bends so that their eyes are level, their noses almost touching. Just the tiniest push, Carl thinks. Just the tiniest push and then…

“Think you’d like that?” Negan asks, dark and low, and Carl’s certain he can read his mind now. He’s certain every sick thought is written all over his face. “I think you’d love it,” Negan says. “I think you’d say thank you.”

He moves back, breathing in, and he looks so tall that for a second Carl thinks he might be on his knees, that his body has betrayed him. Negan licks his lips, not fleeting like before but slow and deliberate. Sensual. Filthy.

“Your pretty little lips saying thank you on my dick.”

Carl opens his mouth, thinks he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t have a coherent thought in his head. His cock is hard in his pants and he holds Negan’s eyes, mentally begs him not to look down, can’t help imagining the reaction he’d get if he did.

Two short sharp honks of a car horn outside cut through everything and leave Carl wanting to whimper, wanting to ask Negan to stay.

“That’s my ride,” Negan says, swinging Lucille back up on his shoulder. His attitude is so at odds with the moment that’s just been torn in half Carl feels like maybe he imagined it all. “Don’t worry,” Negan tells him. “We’ll talk again real soon.”

He winks at Carl, spinning around and heading out of the door. Carl stands stock still, trying to remember how to breathe, when he hears a knock from the hall and a small noise from Judith next door. He rushes to the hall, seeing Negan pull Lucille away from Judith’s door. He grins at Carl, the message clear. Carl can’t hide anything from him.

Without a word Negan heads down the stairs, point made. He begins to whistle a tune, the notes bouncing off the walls, his boots on the steps acting as percussion, and Carl feels like he’s surrounded by him.

He opens Judith’s door, seeing her stood up in her crib, looking inquisitively around. She’s always been a quiet baby, she’s had to be, but Carl can tell when she needs something, when a normal baby would cry.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching down to stroke a hand over her hair. She gurgles at him. He knows she wants to be picked up but he pulls back. He’s too sweaty, too shaky, too dirty. He shouldn’t be near her.

“Carl!”

Carl feels himself sag. “Up here,” he calls, his voice filled with so much defeat. He moves over to the window as he listens to Rick taking the stairs two at a time, watching the gate being closed behind Negan’s trucks.

“Was he in here?” Ricks asks, an edge to his voice that could be anger but is probably just fear. Lately it’s always fear.

“No,” Carl dismisses. “I was just checking on Judith.”

“Is she okay?” Rick asks, leaning down to pick her up.

“She’s fine,” Carl says, still staring at the gate.

“Are you okay?” Rick asks.

Carl’s gaze falls down to the windowsill. He doesn’t even know what okay is supposed to feel like anymore.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, the word feeling heavy on his tongue.

“Carl,” Rick says.

Carl ignores him, rubs his finger over a scratch on the windowsill. Did they do that? Had it always been there?

“Carl,” Ricks says again, more insistent.

“What?” Carl asks.

“Look at me,” Rick requests, his voice pleading, like he’s worried he might have lost something. Carl’s worried about that too.

He’s not together enough to turn around, he can’t let his dad see him like this, all darkness and sick wants that he wishes he could cut right out of himself. Blood hasn’t bothered him for a long time, neither has pain. _Dry eyes and gritted teeth._ It shouldn’t make him proud.

“Carl.”

The word is a whisper and Carl has no choice. He turns his body sideways, cranes his neck to look at Rick, stood there with Judith on his hip, chewing on her own fist. This is what he has to fight for.

“I’m fine,” he says, almost sounding like he means it.

“What did he do?” Rick asks.

“He didn’t _do_ anything,” Carl dismisses. “He just talked a lot.”

“What did he say?” Rick questions.

“Nothing,” Carl says, shaking his head. “Bullshit posturing.”

“Don’t swear,” Rick tells him.

Carl snorts a laugh, turning fully towards him. “Right,” he says. “Let’s focus on the important things.”

“I am,” Rick tells him earnestly.

Carl swallows, looking down at the floor, and he doesn’t feel much anymore but he feels that. He feels his worth pinned on him by someone who cares. He wants so badly to believe that Rick is the one who’s right.

Maybe there can still be good guys. Maybe they can still have good things. Maybe he’s not destined to be that dark, slippery thing that Negan sees in him.

“I’m going to go find Enid,” Carl says, moving away from the window.

Rick nods, even though he looks like he wants to ask him to stay, like he can’t bear letting him out of his sight. Carl stops in front of him, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. Rick gives him a grateful smile and Carl pretends not to notice how damp his eyes are. He leans down, placing a kiss on the top of Judith’s head, and he feels the responsibility bearing down on him.

If Rick can’t do this, if he won’t, then Carl is going to have to do it for him. Up until now all he’s had are fantasies, blood splattered violent revenge that lulls him off to sleep. That’s not going to be enough anymore, not if he wants to save what little he has left. He’s going to need plans.


End file.
